24. Daphne （flashback）

Chapter twenty-four

Daphne (flashback)

Daphne age 12; Alex age 13

I t’s funny how you can be one person but have different storylines with different people. For example, in my grandma’s eyes, I’m an angel fallen from heaven. Whenever we’d catch sight of those cartoon babies strumming their harps with their little baby wings, she’d point and say “See, Daphne? That’s you.” Only, it didn’t feel like me because, according to my mom, I’m the devil.

So, that’s why I wanted to play the harp. I desperately long to fit the version of myself that G randma saw. Unfortunately, ever since her death, all I’m left with is the darkness, aka what some call Mom. The person who birthed me is the darkness, telling me I’m not fit for society. Her darkness seeps into my lungs and bleeds out my pores until I’m so sure that it’s becoming me.

That’s the difference between Alex and me. Once I leave this stupid trailer and stay as far away from M om as I can, I know the darkness will leave me alone. It’ll have no choice because I sweat it from my system .

Alex is different. I sense his darkness wrapping around his arms and legs. It’s imbedded in his DNA.

He’s struggling. I know what it’s like to struggle.

The difference is, I know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel and the darkness will go away.

Someday.

Alex doesn’t have that. It’s like my depression is environmental. His is genetic or a part of him. It doesn’t make him any less of a good person. No matter the darkness within, Alex remains deserving of love.

He’s on my mind, which is unfortunate because I can’t gauge if he likes me back. I think he does, but he’s too hesitant to act on anything.

I’m lost in my world, thinking about harps, and Victoria, and Alex, so I don’t notice M om’s glare that follows me around the living room.

“Why don’t you ever bring your little harp to the house?” she asks, taking me off guard. There’s nothing little about my harp. Also, I don’t trust my mom around it. Knowing her, she’d smash it to pieces out of spite. She does that sometimes. Threatens to hurt the things I love .

“It’s too heavy to lug around.” It’s the safest response. Anything else would just piss her off. Plus, it’s true. Harps can weigh up to ninety pounds! Mine does.

Mom swipes at her nose, making my stomach twist. You see, everyone has a tell. Hers is swiping at her nose. I don’t know if it’s because of the drugs, or nerves, or anger, but whatever it is, whenever she does it, trouble comes.

She snaps I could save hundreds by practicing at home instead of at the Whitmore Institute. “But you won’t because you want to ogle that Whitmore boy.”

My thoughts stutter, but I do take a step back.

How does she know about my crush? Am I that obvious about it?

The world narrows to a pinpoint as my heart slams against my chest like a prisoner against their cell, desperate for freedom. “What?” I force a casual laugh, hoping to deflect her comment.

Mom squints with suspicion clinging to her gaze. Her lips curl up in a cruel, knowing smile. “Oh, I see Alexandru swimming in your eyes, darling.” She drawls out his name just to watch me squirm. I hate how much pleasure she gets out of my discomfort.

Her words hang, leaving me speechless. All I want to do is escape from this place, escape from her poisonous words, escape to a place where Alex and I can exist without complication .

It’s possible that’s part of the problem. When I think of him, I think of us as one unit. Alex and Daphne against the world.

But that’s not the truth, is it? I’m delusional enough to think I can manifest something into existence.

As if reading my thoughts, M om ruthlessly continues, “You’re dreaming if you think anything could happen between you two. He’s out of your league. A Whitmore wouldn’t fall for someone like you.”

It stings more than it should. I know she’s only saying that to hurt me, but truth be told, part of me agrees with her. No matter how much I care for Alex, no matter how much he might even care for me, there’s always going to be a divide between us. No matter if it’s money, his sister’s hate for me, or our own self-deprecation, it feels like we’re opposite ends of magnets—so close to touching but not quite.

I shake off the pang of sadness that threatens to settle in my chest. Suppressing a wince, I lift my chin and compose myself. “You’re right, but I won’t stop playing my harp and trying to befriend him.”

Needing to occupy myself, I turn my back to her to reach for my backpack. My fingers graze the familiar fabric, seeking the comfort of my homework’s routine, when a sudden, searing pain explodes at the back of my skull .

Books and papers scatter as I hit the floor hard. My vision blurs, but I feel the carpet burning against my cheek. She hit me!

“Mom?” I gasp, disoriented. Her grip is iron on my arm, dragging me upward then forward.

“Move!” she hisses.

I stumble, try to pull away, but my head is spinning. Her smack still echoes against my throbbing head. Meanwhile, my legs weaken.

“Let go of me,” I slur, my words more a plea than demand. Ever since G randma died, I’ve been alone. Parents are supposed to love you, and kids are supposed to have friends. Why don’t I?

The bathroom light is too bright. My eyes struggle to adjust as she hauls me in it.

I’m trying to think, but it’s all choppy.

The tub, it’s full of water. Clear and still.

A chill runs through me as I come to a heavy realization. Mom has been planning to hurt me for a long time.

“Mom?” My shaky voice comes out small. Hope on top of hope, I pray that me reminding her of her parental bond with me will pull her out of her current state of mind.

Then, she starts to sing, and for a pathetic moment, I think she’s coming to .

“ Light she was and like a fairy, and her shoes were number nine. Herring boxes, without topses, Sandals were for Clementine .”

She doesn’t think. I twist in her arms, trying to bring her out of whatever fog she’s under. I don’t understand. “What’s going on? Mom, please!” I’m begging, but my heart races with fear. She struck me, dragged me, and now we’re in a cramped bathroom, with her blocking my only way out. This isn’t good, and I’m not near my phone.

Rather than respond, she continues the next verse. “ Oh my darling, oh my darling. Oh my darling, Clementine. You are lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry, Clementine .”

“Mommy you’re scaring me.” The words tumble out between sobs.

There’s a twisted satisfaction in her tone now. Hurting me gives her pleasure. My pain makes her happy. “ Drove she ducklings to the water. Ev’ry morning just at nine. Hit her foot against a splinter .”

That’s not the end of the verse. Then, she grabs my shoulders and shoves me backwards into the tub. My calves smack against the end, and my back hits the wall.

“ Fell into the foaming brine ,” she finishes.

We struggle. My back bends as I try to stand, but she manages to punch my stomach, which makes me double over in pain. Then, she painfully grabs my hair from the back. I’ve always kept it long because it reminded me of my grandma’s hair—long and flowy—but right now, I hate it. I wish it was short.

My torso bends over the lip of the tub. Seconds before my head dunks, I scream, “Mom!”

Water.

Cold.

Everywhere.

“ Oh my darling, oh my darling. Oh my darling, Clementine. You are lost and gone forever. Dreadful sorry, Clementine .” The words are muffled, especially as I scream under the water.

I pull up, yanking and thrusting my head backwards. Now, I can only hear portions of the song as I fight, but unfortunately, I’m battered and weak, so she easily overpowers me and dunks me again.

“ Ruby lips above the water. Blowing bubbles, soft and fine. But, alas, I was no swimmer. So I lost my Clementine .”

My head submerges, and I can’t breathe. Panic claws at my chest. Legs kick. Arms flail. She’s strong. Too strong.

“Mom. ” It’s a gurgle. Useless and only making my lungs burn as I swallow water.

Cold seeps into my bones. I’m fighting, but the strength is slipping away. Mom’s anger, a tangible force, pushes me down, down, down .

“It’s time to go home,” M om says as she brings my head up, only to dunk it under the tub water again. My lungs burn as I open my mouth to breathe, taking water into my mouth. I’ll do anything for even the quickest of gasps. I’m not ready to die, so I fight.

I claw at M om’s arms.

I scream inside the bathtub, bubbles floating to the surface in desperation.

I even dive further in, going from hanging over the tub with just my neck and head in to submerging my entire body. This way, M om has to extends her arms further, and at five foot four, I’m already taller than she is. My arms are longer. If I can just pull away enough, she’ll have to exert more energy.

It’s amazing how much and how little is going through my mind during this. All my brain is proc essing is how to survive. I’m ignoring everything else, like the chill of the water, how M om is wearing all black to prepare for my early funeral, and the cruel words she’s sputtering at me as I claw and fight my way to my next breath.

She submerges my head back into the tub, but this time, I hold my breath. She’ll tire out faster if I just hold on.

Still, my stomach churns, and once this is over with, I will vomit. She’s hit me before but never tried to kill me .

“Mother, please!” I gasp once I scratch her hard enough that she retracts her arms. Water blurs my vision, but I don’t bother trying to wipe my eyes. It’s my lungs I’m giving attention to while I can.

Then, she says something so out of place, as I struggle, that I can’t help but pay attention. “I notice the way you stare at Alexandru Whitmore.”

So, this is what it’s about? She thinks G randma gave me money to learn the harp so I could pursue a boy? It’s not true. I met him after I’d started at the institute.

Barely able to hear her taunts as water rushes into my ears, I can only focus on Alexandru. It gives me the motivation to keep fighting. Never seeing Alexandru’s face again. Never getting to tell him how I feel or express how amazing he is.

I can’t die before I tell him. It’s him I think about before death, and that’s something I hold on to. Suddenly, I don’t care about my harp as much or how I’ll get to see G randma soon. It’s all about Alexandru Whitmore.

His melancholy smile.

His bright, brown eyes.

His frame.

I think of how I’ll die alone if I don’t fight. I’ll become nothing but a memory, and a tainted one at that because who will mourn me ?

With a last burst of energy, I overpower M om by using every single muscle I have to propel my body into the air. As I do so, something cracks against the back of my head when I thrash backward. When I muster enough strength to fight my way around, I watch blood drop from her nose. I broke it.

I pivot my elbow to her throat and jab her. She falls backward, hitting her head on the floor. Not wasting even a second, I jump from the tub, water dripping, lungs burning, and flee from my apartment. Then, I rush out the front door and into the night air.

I can’t stop moving. It’s not safe here. Even as I cough water from my lungs, I stumble down the steps simultaneously. My wobbly legs threaten to give way, but still, I sprint. It feels like I’m treading water, but I’ll tread until it leads back to him.

One of my neighbors opens their door and calls out to me, asking if I need help, but I can only wave with the back of my hand. I don’t even stop.

I’m not sure how I make it to the Whitmore mansion, but I do.

The lights are off, but I know they have cameras on-site. Okay, I don’t know for sure, but I can imagine they do. I would if I were rich. I’d lock my doors rather than rely on the piece of wood that wedges between the crack of the living room and outside, like my trailer does .

My feet won’t stop moving. It’s like I’m underwater again. Much as before, rather than ending my nightmare with a single breath, I just need to see his face.

So, I climb the tree that’s outside his window. I’ve noticed it before. A few months ago, Victoria invited everyone in our music class over for a sleepover. I only went because I wanted to see him again or get him to notice me, or talk to me.

Anyway, the point is that I went. It wasn’t so bad because Eden was there, and Alex invited me to play Call of Duty with him. Most importantly, it led me to this moment: knowing where Alexandru’s bedroom is.

While most of the lights are off inside their home, his bedroom light is on. I’m pleased about this because it’s easier to peer inside his bedroom since it’s so much darker outside than in.

I shimmy further across the tree limb. The wavering blades of grass below remind me just high up I am. It’s worth the risk, though. Especially when I see his brows furrow as he sits on his bed. He’s barefoot, wearing sleep pants and a thin t-shirt. His glasses are off, giving hint for the first time how of long his eyelashes are. He looks … melancholic … beautiful, as always, but sad. Resigned.

I can’t stand it. I’m about to rasp on his windowsill, which is crazy because he’ll scream and his parents will call the cops, and then my mom will say, S ee, that’s why I tried to kill her! The girl is insane! But I can’t help it.

My knuckles brush the window, about to knock, but then he lifts from his bed, puts his hands in his pockets with his head down, and enters his closet.

Right away, I’m on high alert.

I don’t have a visual inside his closet, and I don’t know why, but this unsettles me.

I came here to get a glimpse of him. If I rest my wary eyes on him for a few moments, I can calm my aching soul and live to battle another day. Yet now that I’m here, my entire being is screaming that while my battle has been won, his is only starting to fight.

I wait, and wait, and wait, but he doesn’t come out of the closet.

Now, I’m panicking because, while I’m sure his closet is massive, what could he be doing in there? Especially when he looked so sad beforehand.

The view from his window transforms before my very eyes. I’m back in the tub with M other’s face hovering in mine.

Everything hurts.

My lungs burn, and my fingernails are in agony from clawing at anything and everything they made purchase on to survive. I don’t think about M om right now or how I can’t go back home, maybe never .

I’m dying, from the inside out, but with my last breaths, I just want to rest one last time.

An intense, sharp stabbing pieces my heart, so I have no choice but to go in.

With my already brittle fingernails, I pry his window open. Soft scents of sweat swoop into my face. I’m not surprised. It is a teenage boy’s room, after all.

Heaving my legs from the tree’s limb into the window, I hold my breath as I leap on the sill. The wood creaks underneath my weight, threatening my fall. Thankfully, I hold myself, though.

My eyes fixate on the closed door, my heart pounding in anticipation. The creaking from outside still echoes in my ears as I cautiously make my way inside through the window.

As soon as I enter, everything around me freezes. My world stands still, my senses on high alert. Something is wrong.

I can feel my breath catching in my throat, struggling for air once again. With a rush of adrenaline, I sprint towards Alexandru’s closet and burst through the open doorway, only to freeze when I see his feet swinging at eye level.

He’s above me. How is he above me?

Terrified, I tilt my chin up in slow motion, dreading what I might see. And then it hits me like a punch to the gut—he’s hanging .

I can’t look at his lifeless face, too terrified to witness the aftermath of his actions. Frantically searching for a chair, I finally find one and set it up behind him. My body heaves as I climb onto the chair and feverishly work to untie him.

My nails break and sting with pain, but I refuse to give up. Every second counts as I desperately try to save him.

“Hurry!” I scream, hoping someone will come and help me. But there is no one around, just the sound of Alexandru gasping for air.

He’s alive!

A surge of energy courses through me, and I lift his body enough for him to slip out of the rope around his neck. Together, we collapse onto the ground in a heap of exhaustion and relief. I did it. I saved him.

I’m trembling, both from my damp clothes clinging to my skin like a second layer of fear and from almost losing Alex. I cradle him in my arms. His body is heavier than I expected, but I don’t let that deter me.

“Alex,” I whisper, my voice shaking as much as my hands are. His ragged breathing gasps, meaning he’s here. He’s alive.

“Alex, please look at me.”

His brown eyes flutter open to meet mine. At first, I worry he doesn’t recognize me, but it fades as quickly as it came. Holy shit.

Alexandru Whitmore tried to kill himself .

Our breaths match as our chests rise and fall.

“Why are you wet?” That’s the first thing he asks me?! I shake my head, unable to explain what happened to me. What M other did is incomprehensible, so I change the subject.

“Why?” What I’m actually asking is, Why are you trying to leave me? But I don’t have the right to ask. He’s not mine.

The air between us becomes heavy, laden with the weight of unshed tears and unspoken pain. I search his face for answers, my gaze tracing the lines of strain around his eyes, the set of his jaw that speaks of inner turmoil. It tears me apart to see him like this.

To imagine a world where he doesn’t exist in it.

He looks away, his gaze finding some distant point in the mess of his closet. The silence stretches out, filled with the echo of his struggle and the soft patter of my heart trying to piece itself together.

“Talk to me, Alex,” I urge as I brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “Please.”

His throat works as he swallows hard, the Adam’s apple bobbing. He’s vulnerable in a way that I’ve never seen before, stripped of the fa—ade he wears like armor against the world. It’s raw.

“E-e-everything,” he cracks. “It’s j-just too much. It’s l-like I’m trapped underground, and e-everyone else is j-just watching from above. ”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I force them back. This isn’t about me; it’s about Alex and the demons he’s fighting alone. I tighten my hold on him, willing my strength into his broken frame.

My tone brooking no argument, I say, “You’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Mom’s bruising fingers fade against the coldness of my skin. The air no longer burns inside my lungs. It’s just me and him now. I’ll use it to breathe air back into his lungs, and he’ll ease the panic in my chest.

“I-I know th-that deep down,” he says. “I-I’ve g-got Vic-Victoria a-and my family.” He takes a deep breath, likely to help calm his stutters. “But I feel a-alone a-all the time, and I have no friends.” I’ll never forget the first time I witnessed him being mercilessly bullied by a gang of kids.

I’m here to listen. “Sometimes, talking to someone you trust can help. Have you opened up to your parents about this?”

He avoids eye contact. “No.”

How do I say that I care about him without sounding like a creep? I can’t, and maybe that’s okay. After all, I climbed a tree and broke inside his house like the little creeper I am.

Placing my hand over his, I intertwine his fingers with mine. I don’t know if he’s okay with more physical contact right now, but I want to ground him. “It may be hard to believe, especially at this moment, but life will change. Life isn’t the same as it was when you were little, and it won’t be the same when you’re older. It’s a constant flow.”

“W-what if it only g-gets worse?”

“Then you seek help and hold the fuck on.”

The soft glow of the window casts a soothing aura over us. Our breaths mingle, forging a connection. We are two survivors, united in our separate battles against our inner demons.

I begin to speak, unsure of what words will escape my lips, but all coherent thoughts vanish as Alex leans closer, and then oh- so -gently presses his lips against mine in a tender kiss.

Oh my God. My heart stutters, and I swear to all things holy I could die right here and now. Wrapped in his warm arms, with his gentle lips against mine, soaks up enough tension to.

Our kiss is awkward. His glasses are still on, and I’ve never been kissed before, but when his tongue shyly peeks past my lips and into my mouth, it’s wonderful.

Cautiously, I press my tongue against his, allowing a spark to ignite the moment. A sweet rush of sensation explodes down my arms as I taste the honeyed sweetness of ripened strawberries.

My first kiss is perfect .

After a few seconds, we pull apart. His cheeks are red, and I’m sure mine are too.

For the rest of the night, we sleep on top of the bed covers with our clothes on. I lay my head between the crook of his neck and shoulder while he rests his chin on the top of my head. I never tell him why I was in his closet in the first place.

I leave at daybreak, am placed into foster care, and don’t see him until I transfer to WU nine years later.